


hold me closer

by whisperedwords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5x06 Rewrite, Assertive!Lydia, Canon Compliant, F/M, Sloppy Makeouts, Training Turned Steamy, spoilers for 5x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a semi-au where the Dread Doctors DON'T interrupt Parrish and Lydia in the midst of their..........<i>training</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold me closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharnams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharnams/gifts).



> This is literally just me being garbage because I cannot accept the Dread Doctors ruining that sexually charged training session. I CAN'T. Tbh they better make up for that distraction in canon because if not, I'm gonna need to have a serious talk with Jeff Davis. (Unbeta'd, I don't own any characters or plots or shows etc.)

Lydia gets to his apartment around 3 in the afternoon, her (recently bought) sweats clinging nicely to her body as she strides up to the com at the gate. She brushes her hair back and, with a deep breath, presses the button. It buzzes for a moment, and then—

“State your name and purpose for being here, please.” A monotone voice crackles from the speaker, and honestly, it’s a little surprising that Jordan lives here, seeing as he’s probably the exact opposite of the woman speaking to her currently (the landlady, she correctly assumes).

“Lydia Martin. I’m here to visit Jordan Parrish?” There’s silence for a few moments after, and then the gate clicks, allowing her to swing it open with a mildly disturbing creak. Next time they do this, she thinks, it’ll be at her house, where she doesn’t have to deal with… _this_. Absentmindedly, she runs a hand through her hair again, allowing it to fall over her shoulders just the way she wants while she’s approaching the front desk.

To her surprise, though, Parrish is standing there, that intoxicatingly bright grin splitting his face. He looks a little red, though.

“Did you run all the way down here to meet me?” She asks incredulously, noting the way his chest is only _slightly_ heaving. He shakes his head quickly (maybe a little too quickly) and continues to beam at her.

“Nah, I was actually just getting back from the gym. You know, rentals for today and stuff.” The landlady sitting in the lobby rolls her eyes, and Lydia knows he’s lying about that. It’s okay, though—he’s cute, and he means well, and that’s all that matters.

“Good timing,” She says instead, walking closer to him and linking their arms before he can say anything. “You can walk me up to your place then!” At that, he chokes a little, and she can’t help but grin.

“Sounds like a plan,” He manages, and then leads her to the staircase. They walk in silence for a few moments, but he pipes up after they reach the first landing. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I mean, you need to learn how to fight. It’s important, with all the…” He hesitates, trying to find the right word. She wants to supply ‘ _supernatural shit?_ ’, but figures that his gentlemanly nature wouldn’t allow him to curse in front of her. “… _threats_ your pack is facing.”

“Thank you for agreeing to do this.” She replies, tightening her hold on his arm ever-so-slightly. “You’re taking time out of your day to teach _me_ how to throw a punch, and—“

“Lydia, it’s no problem at all. You spent half of your summer looking through a bunch of ancient textbooks to figure out whatever the _hell_ I am. It’s the least I could do. Besides. I’d rather you start here with me than with a bunch of creepy sweaty old guys at the gym.” He winks at her, and she blushes a little, though she doesn’t really understand why. (It’s Parrish, though. She doesn’t understand a lot of things about him to begin with. But that doesn’t mean she’s not going to find out.)

They’ve gone up four flights of stairs when he finally stops, and she’s not gonna lie, she’s fighting to keep her breath steady. He _really_ ran down from the fifth floor to meet her there? Her heart flutters a little. She blames it on the climb. (It’s not because of the climb.) “Sorry about the mess,” Jordan says, interrupting her thoughts. Lydia blinks at him for a moment before realizing that _yes_ , they were finally at his place.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” She thinks back to the lakehouse last year— _that_ place is the epitome of the word “mess”. Her mother had chewed her out for hours about the scratches on the floor.

“Still.” He says, and swings the unlocked door open. “No excuse for me to be giving you jiu-jitsu lessons in a dumpster.” At that, Lydia giggles, and he smiles at the sound.

“This place is _not_ a dumpster.” She’s adamant in her words, and he sighs, admitting defeat for what Lydia is _sure_ won’t be the last time. “Now, are we gonna do this or what?” She cocks her head to the side, and he smirks a little at her impatience.

“You should probably tie your hair back, Lydia.” He says, and _yeah_ , she knows that. She was waiting until she got here to do that, just to…spice things up. She nods innocently, leaning her head back and pulling her hair into a tight ponytail, watching Parrish as he’s not-so-subtle about his hungry gaze. She bats her eyes a little bit—she _does_ love this game—and then finishes up, tightening her ponytail once before shaking her head and looking at him expectantly. He clears his throat.

“Ready when you are, _Deputy_.” She says, and the way his eyes darken a little sends a shiver down her spine. But the moment disappears quickly, and he’s back to his innocent and eager persona, walking into his living room and beckoning her to follow.

“Here. Let’s start with some defense.” He says, and she slowly mimics the position he’s currently demonstrating. “Try and hit me.”

She does. Lydia Martin is not one to throw punches, but there are plenty of things in her life to be angry about, and she channels them into her first swing, wild and without much aim, and he easily avoids her, blocking her punch and swinging back at her. She’s quick to put an arm up to defend herself, naturally—but he’s easily overpowered her, one hand back to defend himself while the other aims for her head. She ducks.

“Arms up.” He says, sounding like he’s completely unfazed. “This way, you can block attacks to your face and your head while always keeping your eyes on your enemy.” She lifts her arms the way he’s showing her, and he nods a little. “Ready?” She nods. He throws the first punch this time—it’s to her head, again, and she uses one of her raised arms to deflect him. He tries again, and she blocks him once more. It’s exhilarating, and she thinks she’s getting the hang of it.

Of course, she’s not actually. His next move is with his knee, a distraction, and then an elbow to her jaw. She goes reeling back, of course. “It’s alright.” Parrish’s voice is patient, as usual. He’s as good a person as any to be teaching her, seeing as he’s probably a saint in disguise. “You’re not gonna be perfect after only a few tries.” Lydia cracks her neck and shakes her head.

“I’m okay. Keep going.” She sounds less out-of-breath than she feels, and she mentally pats herself on the back for it.

He looks concerned when she directs her attention back at him. “Are you sure? Maybe we should stop after a few.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want your stitches to get un-stitched.” He’s got that dorky smile on his face again, and she’d find it endearing if it wasn’t about to drive her up the wall in irritation. She’s not a breakable thing. She’s _not_. He has to know that she’s willing to throw herself into this wholeheartedly.

“They’re fine.” She says shortly. He raises an eyebrow at her doubtfully, and she sighs, unzipping her jacket. “See? No blood.” She doesn’t miss the way his innocent expression fades just a little at that reveal, and she’s getting hot anyway—the jacket gets peeled off and thrown onto his couch. Just for kicks.

She’s not expecting him to take off his, too. She eyes him a little before focusing back on the task at hand. “Ready when you are.” Her voice is more breathless this time, and she has to take a moment to settle herself in the arms-up position before looking at him again. He’s got a dangerous-looking smile on his face as he circles her, his (ridiculous, by the way) arms looking ready to strike. She blocks his first punch, casting it aside with one arm, and then his second, batting his wrist away. His third punch aims lower, and she surprises herself by using both arms to deftly avoid the strike. She’s feeling riled up after that one, and decides to take the initiative. She swings at him. He sees it coming from a mile away, though—he’s ducked by the time she’s turned fully around, and his arms wrap around her just beneath her breasts, keeping her arms crossed tight against her chest. One of his hands is pressed against her stomach, holding her against him. Her momentum causes his response to lift her slightly, so when he sets her down, she’s tucked tightly into him.

“What did you do wrong?” He asks, patience still echoing in his words. She exhales shakily a few times, trying to find the words.

“I—I forgot to keep my arms up,” She replies after a moment, biting her lip to try and numb the dull ache of her stitches.

“Right.” His lips are right by her ear, and she notices this at the pause between his words—his breath is slightly unsteady, and the close proximity isn’t helping, she’s sure. “But don’t worry. Your muscles have memory. With enough practice, they’ll remember _for_ you.” She sighs again, frustrated with herself. And then, she relaxes. Her eyes close, and she leans back against his shoulder, her face leaning into his own, brushing their cheeks together. She just needs to catch her breath, just for a few moments, and then—

Well, and then, she feels his arm flex slightly under her grip, and she feels the way he’s swaying them almost imperceptibly, and she feels—oh boy. Lydia’s eyes flutter open, at _that_. She feels Jordan go still against her, lips still impossibly close to her ear, and is this _not_ how she expected today to go? Slowly, carefully, she lifts her head so that it’s no longer lying against his shoulder, and instead moves so that his nose is pressed to the back of her head. She feels him move, his head lowering to follow her gently, and _god_ why is he not kissing her right now? She stands there for another moment, feeling the obvious attraction from inside his sweatpants, and she shifts against it. She can feel him bite back a soft hiss, and that’s it. She’s not waiting for him.

Deftly, she turns in his arms and pulls him in for a searing kiss, shocking him into releasing her for a moment. He pulls away first.

“Lydia…” His voice is more hesitant than anything, and she drapes her arms around his neck.

“Jordan Parrish, I am eighteen years old. I’m a legal adult. I am very, _very_ attracted to you, and I want you to kiss me.” She pauses as she leans in towards his lips. “Now.”

Bless him for knowing how to choose his battles. Without another word, his arms wrap around her waist and tug her close, and he closes the distance between them very quickly. Almost immediately, she finds herself being hoisted up and onto his hips and backed against a wall, and her fingers are tangled in his hair before her back even hits the plaster. His lips are hot against hers, his kisses biting and like fire—it’s not surprising, seeing as he’s pretty much immune to said fire, and his eyes sometimes look like they’re embers from a flame. It only makes sense that he’s consuming like this. They break for air, for a moment, and his lips are at her neck before she can even direct him there. (So this is what it’s like to date someone who’s not 17 and desperate to get off quick. She thinks she could get used to this.) His teeth sink into her skin a little, tongue soothing the mark quickly, and she lets out a little gasp as she tilts her head to the side to give him more access.

“God, _Deputy_ ,” She hums, one hand now raking down the back of his head and stopping at his neck. She’s loving this new sensation of being attended to. He stops biting at her to smile against her skin, lips wet and soft and right at her pulse point. She tugs at his hair with her other hand, and he pulls away further from her neck, his eyes glowing a little as he stares her right in the eye. That same shiver from earlier crawls up her spine, and she kisses him before he can go back to his bang-up job of littering her neck with hickeys. (They’ll get there, but not now.)

“Whaddoyouwant, Lydia,” He half-growls, and the glow in his eyes intensifies when she rocks once against his hips.

“Let’s take things _slow_ ,” She teases, though _god_ she does want more. “I can’t come home with dirty clothes, you know.” Normal green quickly takes over the supernatural glow in his eyes, and she’s only a little disappointed as he allows her to unhook her legs from his waist. “I don’t wanna _stop_ though.” She pulls him towards the couch that’s currently occupied by their workout jackets. She sits herself down and pats the space next to her, and the smile she gets in return makes her stomach do cartwheels. He’s at her side in a moment.

“How slow are we going today?” Jordan’s voice is a little rough, but still soft around the edges, and she scoots closer to him, one hand cupping his face gently. (The easy change in rhythm is nice—she’s glad he’s good at adapting to things. To her. Again, she could get used to this.)

“Hmmm….” She ponders, and he moves so that his lips are hovering just above hers. “Well, I’d say we’ve passed the beginner’s level, haven’t we?”

The kiss she gets in return answers enough.


End file.
